


Not for You

by Silverhuntress



Series: Ketojan's Inquisition [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Mild Racism, past violence against children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverhuntress/pseuds/Silverhuntress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ketojan Adaar didn't set out to save Fiona's rebellion, specifically. They were just the necessary evil that let him save the innocents in Redcliff.</p><p>He explains this to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not for You

**Author's Note:**

> Meet my Inquisitor, Ketojan Adaar, endlessly curious, natural diplomat, occasional smart-ass.
> 
> Also capable of shooting lightning out his fingertips and shockingly gentle for a mercenary.

It had taken some doing to track Fiona down after the rebel mages arrived in Haven. The hasty evacuation of Redcliff had pulled the Grand Enchanter into the thick of coordinating and packing an altogether alarming number of mages of a worrying range of ages.

Elderly and children already in her care, and Fiona took shelter with civilians.

Idiot.

Ketojan found her settling in some magelings with a Tranquil minder, in one of the Chantry side rooms, the children were two to a cot and sleepy from the exertions of the day.

The Vashoth lingered in the doorway until he was acknowledged.

Fiona bid her charges good night and stepped into the hallway, “Herald, I cannot begin to thank you enough for what you have done for mage freedom-“

Adaar cut her off. “You’re quite right,” he started genially, then allowed his voice to grow cold, “you can’t.”

The elven woman looked startled, “Herald?”

“I didn’t do this for you or your damned cause, Fiona,” the Herald growled, “I did it for the people in your camp who _didn’t want to be there_. I did it for the _children_ going untrained, and the _civilians_ you caught in your mess.”

“The Templars were at our door, I had no choice but to-“

“I’m not even talking about Alexius!” Adaar snarled. “Peaceful men and women have nowhere to go because of your rebellion. Children never got a chance to choose for themselves. And you used the actions of a lunatic as your rallying cry.”

Fiona had backed herself against the wall, magic curling defensively about her hands, “Are you going to abandon us after saving us after all, Herald?” She was wary of him. Good.

“No. Because you’re an idiot, but that’s never been a crime, and there are people with you who deserve a chance.” He took a steadying breath, “The children are leaving tomorrow, and anyone who wants a peaceful existence in the Circle.”

By the look on the Enchanter’s face, a passerby might have assumed he had threatened the woman with grievous harm. “You’re breaking the back of the mage rebellion!” she accused.

“No, I’m sending children to be taught to control themselves, I’m giving the elements in your resistance that want to stop fighting a chance to do so, and I’m reducing the number of liabilities I have to account for in _my_ town,” Ketojan argued, arms crossed and unimpressed. “Vivvene’s Montsimmard Circle is still functioning, and Cullen will arrange the escort.” He turned to walk away, “Inform your people tonight, no point in some of them getting too settled.”

“You can’t do this!” she protested, trying to follow, “You have no idea what the Circle is-“

Adaar rounded on her, “You’re right, I _don’t_ know what it’s like. Because when the Templars came for me they tried to _kill me_.” Fiona had stopped in her tracks, pale. “I was five years old, and I was so excited, I was going to learn _magic_. I was going to be _safe_. I wouldn’t have to listen to people call us awful things. And then they came, saw a child with horns chasing wisps in a garden and shot me. The arrow was bigger than my arm,” he recalled, voice soft as he remembered the pain and fear of that day, “I still have the scar if you want to see.

“My father broke the door coming out of the house when I screamed, he used to be army, but I’d never believed it until I saw what he did to those men. He tore through them like he actually was a demon. I think that’s why they never found us. The next group they sent must have killed the first abomination they found and assumed it was me.” Fiona’s hand was over her mouth in horror, eyes wet. “We found Tal Vashoth, I learned magic from _mercenaries_ whose only goal was to _kill people with it_ ,” he hissed, towering over the elven woman. “So, no, I don’t know the Circle, personally, but I know your magelings don’t know how to summon enough fire to roast a man in under a minute. And I know that’s not something the Circle ever plans on teaching them. They are going to Montsimmard, no arguments.”

Fiona nodded, tears finally escaping. “Herald,” she croaked out, “I am so sorry.”

“You think the Circle failed you, it didn’t the men running it failed you. But the privileged never know how good they have it do they?” He started to walk out of the Chantry again, “Tell your people, Fiona.”

Fiona nodded at Adaar’s back and across the hall, an office door creaked open. The Antivan woman, the ambassador stepped out, her eyes were suspiciously shiny, but if she’d cried overhearing the Herald of Andraste’s story she gave no sign. She smiled at the mage, “Grand Enchanter, I understand some of your people will be leaving us? Shall I arrange some assistance with the children for the morning?”

The elven woman nodded, “Yes that would be lovely. Thank you, Ambassador…”

“Montilyet. Josephine Montilyet, official Ambassador to the Inquisition. If you’ll step inside my office we can hammer out some details for the morning.”

Fiona nodded again, stepping aside for another elven mage that stormed out of the office, a fierce glare for the Enchanter.

“Please forgive Minaeve, Grand Enchanter,” the ambassador asked, “I’m afraid something rather urgent has arisen with her work.”

“Of course,” she replied automatically as she entered.

Josephine sat herself behind the desk, all business. “Now,” she began producing a quill and parchment, “how many children are there?”

The questions helped put solid ground under her feet, but it could not entirely chase away the image of a blood spattered child the Herald had painted.

**Author's Note:**

> One of those, Maker I wish this had been a conversation option stories. Because like Vivienne, I believe in the ideal of the Circle and the Templars.


End file.
